rEvolution
by Kimiko1
Summary: YAOI AU Heero and Duo are in a different place and time, fighting a different war.


Title: rEvolution (1/1)  
Author: Kimi-chan the Destroyer  
Email: kimiko@theunknown.com  
Pairing: 1+2+1  
Rating: PG for nonexplicit violence, (original character) death, political   
ramblings and a bit of kissing ^^;;  
Warnings: Shounen-ai, shoujo-ai implications, war, AU, OOC, songfic   
("Ireland" belongs to Garth Brooks)  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.  
Archive: You want it? Just let me know where. ^_^  
A/N: It's a little odd, but the bits written in past-tense happen (in order)   
after the majority of the fic, which is written in present-tense. Deal with it.   
^^;  
  
~HAJIME~  
  
It was…green. So green, so bright, so full of life, just everywhere, just –   
green. He could feel the emerald-bright pulsing of it down to his soul, like   
singing. Like the Earth was taking a deep breath and singing just to him.   
This was Home, then, was it? – this place where everything was the bright   
color of grass and spring and life. This was where they'd come from, so   
long ago; this was where his mothers had toiled and birthed and died. It   
was here he'd been searching for, here he'd been fighting for.  
  
[They say Mother Earth is breathing  
With each wave that finds the shore  
Her soul rises in the evening  
For to open Twilight's door  
Her eyes are the stars in heaven  
Watching o'er us all the while  
And her heart it is in Ireland  
Deep within the Emerald Isle]  
  
There are so few of us left, but…we persevere. Have to keep fighting,   
though for what we aren't sure; most of us don't know anything else, now.   
We were raised on war, all but the very oldest – on blood, death, steel,   
motor oil and stench-of-fear.  
  
It's not even our war, really. Something the politicians caused, no doubt,   
when there were still enough of them in power to make life hell for the   
rest of us; that is, before we started making life hell for ourselves. I've   
heard the history, of course, and all the talk of Revolution, but looking   
back, it sounds like a pipe dream. What did Revolution get us? Fifty years   
of blood and death and pain. It'll all be over tomorrow, but then what?   
Probably another fifty years of chaos, a lost and broken race trying to   
build a world from the nothing that's left now. A society free from hate   
and violence, that's what they started fighting for. Maybe it'll work, who   
knows, pigs could fly – but I probably won't be around to see it.  
  
I pull up a stool next to my buddy Wings, whose dented bowl is full of the   
slop we're forced to call dinner. It isn't that bad, really; looks like shit, but   
we complain a lot more than it warrants. Tastes pretty good most days,   
and it keeps us going. Wings shoots Cookie a cobalt glare and   
commandeers a ladle, then dumps some more of the slop into another   
bowl, which he hands to me. I nod, grin, eat.  
  
Mouse fills two bowls, carries them over to the makeshift bed where   
Captain's broken body lies. Cap broke both her legs and lost an arm and a   
hand in a freak explosion while she was working on the engines; wounds   
festered and she's not getting better, no matter Mouse's efforts to save her.   
Cap manages a wan smile as her wife spoon-feeds her. The rest of us   
watch sadly for a while before finishing up our own meals, our customary   
banter and chuckles absent. Cap's the heart of our team, and none of us   
wants to lose her. We try to go on like nothing's changed, but none of us is   
that strong.  
  
[We are forty against hundreds  
In someone else's bloody war  
We know not why we're fighting  
Or what we're dying for  
They will storm us in the morning  
When the sunlight turns the sky  
Death is waiting for its dance now  
Fate has sentenced us to die]  
  
He flung his arms wide and danced, spun grinning in the sunlight and   
under the trees, tumbled to the ground and rolled in the age-old fragrance   
of growing things. This was it, this was what they'd worked for, this was   
what they'd fought for – this was what so many had died for. He rose, still   
grinning, bits of plant and life caught in his hip-length braid, and   
beckoned his companion.  
  
[Ireland I'm coming home  
I can see your rolling fields of green  
And fences made of stone  
I am reaching out  
Won't you take my hand  
I'm coming home Ireland]  
  
It's midnight now, and I ought to be sleeping – well, hell, we all should.   
We've got to be up and ready to defend our position at dawn. Intel hacked   
into their mainframe and found out they'll be attacking then, and we'd   
better have it together or we're all gonna die. Well, we're probably all   
gonna die anyway. But we should be sleeping. And most of us are.  
  
I'm not, of course.  
  
It's dark in the Cave – which is what we've taken to calling this place, and   
really, what it is – but my eyes have adjusted, and I can sort of make out   
everyone's form. Everyone's sleeping but me; well, except for maybe   
Cap. Yeah, a groan and shift tells me she's awake.  
  
"Crash," she murmurs, "you awake, buddy?"  
  
"Sure, Cap. What's up?" I try hard to keep my voice from cracking; seeing   
death so much in the war, I've learned to sort of feel when it's coming,   
and I'm betting this is one of those times.  
  
"This is it, Crash." Yep, that's what I thought. I try to swallow the lump in   
my throat and reply, but she wearily waves me silent, her breath coming in   
shallow gasps. "No, no, don't say anything. You're my second, man.   
You…it's your job to lead the team into battle now. I'm…counting on   
you…kid."  
  
"Cap –"  
  
"Shh." It's taking more and more out of her to breathe, I can tell. Cap's   
almost gone. What's that – a tear? I'm crying. "It's all right, Crash. We all   
knew this would happen." In a last burst of strength, she clasps my hand.   
"Tell Mouse I…love her…"  
  
No. No, Cap, don't leave us now! We need you! I can't do this. I can't   
lead on my own! But it's too late, she's gone.  
  
[Oh the captain he lay bleeding  
And I can hear him calling me  
These men are yours now for the leading  
Show them to their destiny]  
  
I must have screamed or something, because everyone's awake now.  
  
"What's wrong?" asks Prof. "What happened? – are they here?"  
  
"It's Cap," I manage. "She's…gone."  
  
"No!" Mouse collapses to the floor, weeping. "Gods, no, not now…"  
  
"She wanted…" I lick my dry lips, and I'm back in control again. "She   
wanted me to tell you that she loved you. Mouse…if you don't want to   
fight tomorrow, we'll all understand." Everyone nods but Mouse, who   
stands up and dries her eyes.  
  
"Oh, I'll fight," she says coldly. "I'll sure as shit die with you guys   
tomorrow, least I can do. And I'll take a few of those bastards with me!"  
  
In the silence that follows, I look around; everyone's looking thin and   
haggard, everyone's looking half dead already, and everyone's looking   
ready to kill or be killed. I'd bet my last credit (if I had any) that no one's   
going to get any more sleep tonight, so I figure, what the hell. "Get ready,   
guys," I say, grinning cheerfully. "We attack in half an hour. Intel, get on   
those coords."  
  
"Sir," and he salutes, already tapping at the laptop he's never without.  
  
"Prof," I continue, "come on over here. Let's you and me work out a   
plan."  
  
[As I look up all around me  
I see the ragged, tired and torn  
I tell them to make ready  
'Cause we're not waiting for the morn]  
  
The two joined hands and spun wildly in a mad dance over the hilltop,   
crashing down together in the soft turf and rolling over and over until they   
stopped, the one looming over the other, staring deep into each other's   
eyes. Around them the green was intense and vibrant with the pulse of the   
earth, its vivid image playing against the insides of their minds; and to the   
two companions it seemed as if all the world was green but them, and they   
the only creatures in it.  
  
[Ireland I'm coming home  
I can see your rolling fields of green  
And fences made of stone  
I am reaching out  
Won't you take my hand  
I'm coming home Ireland]  
  
It's a New Moon tonight and almost pitch-black as we edge toward their   
camp, running silent and turning off the cockpit lamps when we spot a   
SentryBot. I can see the flicker of their lights through the scored and   
clouded Plexiglass of the windshield; somehow they're awake, or some of   
them. Some of them. Must remember, Crash – there're hundreds of the   
bastards camped here. A pocket of mist, now – but I ease us through it, no   
trouble; mist I can handle. It's the empty radar of space that creeps me out,   
which is why I'm planetside. I might be a Colony brat but that doesn't   
mean I like a void.  
  
We're close enough now there's no way their scanners can miss us, and   
just like clockwork, we start tripping alarms. "Battle stations!" – a shout,   
an order; takes me a second to realize it's mine, not Cap's. I'm still not   
quite adjusted to my rise in the chain of command, but I'll do my best – as   
will we all.  
  
The plan is for Wings and me to stay aboard and attack the camp from the   
ship, providing a distraction while the others fight their way in the back   
door to set the bombs. Mouse, Intel, Prof and the rest pop into the shuttles,   
headed for the camp, running utterly silent – only Mouse, as pilot, with   
coord readouts in her scavenged VI helmet. Wings looks at me. "What   
now, Crash?"  
  
"Now..." What now? Good question. "Now we fire."  
  
We go in screaming.  
  
[Now the fog is deep and heavy  
As we forge the dark and fear  
We can hear their horses breathing  
As in silence we draw near  
There are no words to be spoken  
Just a look to say goodbye  
I draw a breath and night is broken  
As I scream our battle cry]  
  
There was a long moment in which the world seemed to stop, time stilling   
abruptly and leaving behind it only the heady intoxication wrought by   
dizziness, desire, triumph and not a little fear. In a sudden rush of blind   
impulse, mouth closed over sweetly willing mouth, tongues battled, and   
the scent of arousal melded into the heady fragrance of green-and-  
growing all around. The feeling was safety; this was right, this was home.  
  
[Ireland I'm coming home  
I can see your rolling fields of green  
And fences made of stone  
I am reaching out  
Won't you take my hand  
I'm coming home Ireland  
Yes I am home Ireland]  
  
I can't believe I survived that. We were spun ass over teakettle into a   
mountain by the blast when the camp went up, and we didn't have our   
helmets on, but I guess the old piece of junk had decent seatbelts after all,   
because here I am.  
  
Head feels like it's in a vice, of course. And I can see two of Wings. But   
I'm alive, and it looks like so is he.  
  
I try to speak, but it comes out as a harsh cough. When that's done I try   
again. "W-Wings...?  
  
He blinks a couple times, shakes his head, licks dry lips and pauses.   
"Crash...is it..."  
  
"Over," I breathe. "The war is over." And then, only then, the tears come.  
  
[We were forty against hundreds...]  
  
We crawl out of the ship, little more than salvage now, dragging along a   
few packs of supplies. There's a town not far; I know, I wintered in it   
once. That is, it should still exist – just over another few hills...  
  
Now I remember – well of course, now, seeing the sign: "Burrow". As in   
hole. Place has been the bolthole of the resistance since before I was born.   
It's not much, Gods know, but it's got people and food and a regular   
transport out. As we enter the town it's apparent they're aware of what   
happened; they were just about to mount a salvage mission to the   
battlefield, says one citizen, and we'd be welcome to stay in her hostel   
until the tranny comes on Wednesday.  
  
What is it – Sunday? Huh. And on the seventh day, He rested.  
  
We hop on the tranny with our first non-issue clothes on our backs, bound   
for Cork, where the last real governmental body meets; these guys were   
behind the resistance, and apparently they want to give us medals or   
something. My family's from Ireland, I think, back a few generations; I've   
never been to the place, but my grandma's journal mentioned rolling green   
hills. They're probably all burnt away now, battle-scarred and barren.  
  
Wings clears his throat. "Ah, Crash...?"  
  
I grin. "The name's Duo, man. Duo Maxwell."  
  
He smiles back, sort of shyly, but there's a sparkle in his eyes I've never   
seen before. "You can call me Heero Yuy."  
  
~*OWARI*~  



End file.
